


The One Thing We're Looking For

by Answer



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Christmas, Drama, F/M, Holidays, Post-Movie, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-09
Updated: 2010-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Answer/pseuds/Answer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after their eventful first Christmas, Belle and her Prince hold a ball, but not everything is to go as planned. A fluffy Christmas fic!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Cogsworth dipped the nib of the pen into the ink and smoothly completed the address on the parchment. It had been a long, arduous and – he sighed deeply and dramatically as he thought about it – thankless task, but finally every last name on the list had been accounted for. A tall and satisfyingly large pile of envelopes had cascaded across his desk and onto the floor – most disorganised, better tidy that up before anyone saw – and each one contained a personal invitation from their Royal Highnesses to a ball in honour of the festive season. 'Personal', of course, referred to the fact that the Prince had _personally_ ordered Cogsworth to compile the list and write the invitations and that the princess had _personally_ smiled apologetically and said that she would be only too willing to help if her other ball-related duties permitted. Which they hadn't. Still, Cogsworth thought, there was some satisfaction to be gained from having completed the task – and, truth be told, he was probably a good deal better suited to sitting at a desk with ink and parchment than running about in an attempt to control the raucous rabble that formed the Prince's household staff.

"Just high spirits!" Mrs Potts had told him cheerfully at breakfast that morning. All well and good, but high spirits did not wash dishes or make sure that the royal bed was made.

Cogsworth rested the pen on the desk and leaned back in his chair. It was nice to have a moment's rest. Perhaps he would just close his eyes for a moment…

"Aha, what have we here? Taking a snooze on the job, Cogsworth?"

Cogsworth groaned as the all-too-familiar tones penetrated his consciousness. "No, Lumière, I was just…" He hesitated for a moment. "Resting my eyes."

Lumière flashed his most dazzling smile. Cogsworth looked around and noticed that his friend and greatest antagonist was brandishing what appeared to be an ornate toasting fork. "Of course you were, _mon ami_. But perhaps you could refrain from, ah, _resting your eyes_ until after you have spoken to the Master in the drawing room? He sent me to fetch you. Oh," he added, waving the toasting fork expressively. "And he wants those invitations sometime yesterday, if at all possible."

Cogsworth narrowed his eyes as the object came within a hair's breadth of his nose. "Lumière, what _is_ that?"

"This? It's a candlestick."

Cogsworth rolled his eyes and scooped the invitations into a pile, shuffling them irritably. "Of course it is."

" _Mais naturellement_ , Cogsworth." His debonair colleague swept a low and patronising bow. "After you."

"Thank you," Cogsworth muttered, attempting to catch hold of Princess Marguerite's invitation and almost dropping the royalty of all the kingdoms bordering them to the east.

"Let me give you a hand with those." Lumière held out his free hand and Cogsworth gratefully passed him some of the envelopes. They walked together along the corridor to the staircase. As they began to climb down, Lumière smirked at a sudden thought. "So, Cogsworth," he began, casually. "It is exciting, _non_ , the prospect of the ballroom being filled once again with beautiful women?"

Cogsworth adjusted his grip on the envelopes. "Certainly, Lumière, I relish the prospect of mapping out an entire seating plan that will be thrown wholly out by last minute additions to the guest list, of checking off names and of running around in a frantic search for napkins."

Lumière smiled, knowingly. "You know, Cogsworth, I believe you do."

Cogsworth sighed. For an Englishman, sarcasm wasn't taught, it came with the package – rather like cream teas and scones. Lumière, on the other hand, had a habit of saying what he meant – assuming he knew what that was in the first place. He decided to ignore his comment and continue. "Do you know, I almost miss the days when you could call a napkin and one would come running..."

"Cogsworth!" cried Lumière in feigned horror. "What a thing to say!"

"Well, you know what I mean. At least then if all the cutlery went missing you knew it had probably gone for a walk around the grounds or something. These days it usually turns out that someone's using it to prop up a Christmas tree or something."

A harassed-looking butler hurried past them at that moment, wreath in one hand, sprig of holly in the other. "Cutlery," he murmured. "Hadn't thought of that."

Lumière laughed, turning back to face Cogsworth. "Now I know you don't mean that. And as for napkins who would run to you when you called them – shall we keep your sordid fantasies out of this?"

Cogsworth started to say something about wilful misunderstanding but it was clear that Lumière wasn't listening. Instead, he scowled huffily all the way from the foot of the staircase to the drawing room.

The Prince was having a heated discussion with his lady wife as to the relative merits of two potential Yule logs. The argument seemed a bit one-sided, with the Prince saying things like "Well, this one's definitely a better shape. But then again, I like the feel of this one…" whilst Belle rested her head on his shoulder and gazed dreamily into the fire.

She sat up as Lumière and Cogsworth entered. "That one," she said, suddenly re-engaging with the conversation and pointing at the log in her husband's left hand. "It'll burn better."

The Prince nodded. "Then this one it is." He turned to face his head of household. "Ah, Cogsworth. You have the invitations?"

"Yes, Master. Every one of them, checked and double-checked against Belle's – the princess's – list, sir."

"Excellent. Lumière, have the stable boys saddle up a dozen horses, we'll get these sent out at once. Now, Cogsworth – are the arrangements in place for the table settings?"

"Yes, sir – cream china on a red cloth with gold-rimmed goblets."

In the background of the conversation, Belle blinked, slightly bewildered. Having a choice of different-coloured china to suit any occasion was just one of the many things she was having trouble getting to grips with.

"Excellent," the Prince was saying. "How about the decorations for the ballroom?"

"I have a team working on it as we speak."

"The garden?"

"A topiary expert has been called in. Oh, and sir – about the music for the ball, I've had a word with the musicians…"

The Prince made a pained expression. "Ah, yes, about the music – could you have it seen to that the organ is removed from the Great Hall? I realise that it's not immediately relevant to the ball but…"

Belle shivered slightly at the memory, resting her hand on the Prince's shoulder to give reassurance. The events of last Christmas had been sinister to say the least – and not an experience she wanted repeating, however pleasant the eventual outcome had been.

Cogsworth nodded solemnly. "I understand, sir. I'll have it taken care of immediately." A moment later, he bowed and left the room. The Prince turned back to his wife.

"Thank you," she said, suddenly.

"For what?"

Belle looked into his eyes and smiled. "For all of this. For Christmas. It's important to me." She hesitated, her thoughts returning to the previous year – to snowball fights and talking crockery, to fear and understanding, to love. "I'm glad we can share it together." There was a pause. Belle moved closer to her husband and he slipped his arm around her, pulling her gently against his chest.

"Sometimes," he said, eventually. "I can't believe I was lucky enough to find you."

"Oh, you weren't," Belle smiled, offhandedly. "You were lucky I came looking." She tilted her head back until her eyes met his. "Your romance plan was seriously flawed, you know."

"Was it?" he said, innocently. "Well, that was remiss of me. Is there anything I can do to rectify the situation?"

"Oh, probably," said Belle, equally innocent. "Sometimes I can't believe you're the same Beast who imprisoned my father." Her husband shifted uncomfortably and she giggled. "I'm teasing you." She sighed, happily. "Anyway, I do believe you're the Beast who saved my life."

"You should," he said, leaning over to kiss her. "Because he's still here and he says you shouldn't have been in the West Wing."

Belle squealed, wriggling free of his grasp. "Well, you should learn to control your temper!"

There was a knock at the door and Mrs Potts coughed, smiling wanly and looking up at the ceiling. "When you're ready, dears, the cook wants a word with you in the kitchen."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **My French people are very English. Sorry about that… have trouble making British colloquialisms sound French….**

Cogsworth dipped the nib of the pen into the ink and smoothly completed the address on the parchment. It had been a long, arduous and – he sighed deeply and dramatically as he thought about it – thankless task, but finally every last name on the list had been accounted for. A tall and satisfyingly large pile of envelopes had cascaded across his desk and onto the floor – most disorganised, better tidy that up before anyone saw – and each one contained a personal invitation from their Royal Highnesses to a ball in honour of the festive season. 'Personal', of course, referred to the fact that the Prince had _personally_ ordered Cogsworth to compile the list and write the invitations and that the princess had _personally_ smiled apologetically and said that she would be only too willing to help if her other ball-related duties permitted. Which they hadn't. Still, Cogsworth thought, there was some satisfaction to be gained from having completed the task – and, truth be told, he was probably a good deal better suited to sitting at a desk with ink and parchment than running about in an attempt to control the raucous rabble that formed the Prince's household staff.

"Just high spirits!" Mrs Potts had told him cheerfully at breakfast that morning. All well and good, but high spirits did not wash dishes or make sure that the royal bed was made.

Cogsworth rested the pen on the desk and leaned back in his chair. It was nice to have a moment's rest. Perhaps he would just close his eyes for a moment…

"Aha, what have we here? Taking a snooze on the job, Cogsworth?"

Cogsworth groaned as the all-too-familiar tones penetrated his consciousness. "No, Lumière, I was just…" He hesitated for a moment. "Resting my eyes."

Lumière flashed his most dazzling smile. Cogsworth looked around and noticed that his friend and greatest antagonist was brandishing what appeared to be an ornate toasting fork. "Of course you were, _mon ami_. But perhaps you could refrain from, ah, _resting your eyes_ until after you have spoken to the Master in the drawing room? He sent me to fetch you. Oh," he added, waving the toasting fork expressively. "And he wants those invitations sometime yesterday, if at all possible."

Cogsworth narrowed his eyes as the object came within a hair's breadth of his nose. "Lumière, what _is_ that?"

"This? It's a candlestick."

Cogsworth rolled his eyes and scooped the invitations into a pile, shuffling them irritably. "Of course it is."

" _Mais naturellement_ , Cogsworth." His debonair colleague swept a low and patronising bow. "After you."

"Thank you," Cogsworth muttered, attempting to catch hold of Princess Marguerite's invitation and almost dropping the royalty of all the kingdoms bordering them to the east.

"Let me give you a hand with those." Lumière held out his free hand and Cogsworth gratefully passed him some of the envelopes. They walked together along the corridor to the staircase. As they began to climb down, Lumière smirked at a sudden thought. "So, Cogsworth," he began, casually. "It is exciting, _non_ , the prospect of the ballroom being filled once again with beautiful women?"

Cogsworth adjusted his grip on the envelopes. "Certainly, Lumière, I relish the prospect of mapping out an entire seating plan that will be thrown wholly out by last minute additions to the guest list, of checking off names and of running around in a frantic search for napkins."

Lumière smiled, knowingly. "You know, Cogsworth, I believe you do."

Cogsworth sighed. For an Englishman, sarcasm wasn't taught, it came with the package – rather like cream teas and scones. Lumière, on the other hand, had a habit of saying what he meant – assuming he knew what that was in the first place. He decided to ignore his comment and continue. "Do you know, I almost miss the days when you could call a napkin and one would come running..."

"Cogsworth!" cried Lumière in feigned horror. "What a thing to say!"

"Well, you know what I mean. At least then if all the cutlery went missing you knew it had probably gone for a walk around the grounds or something. These days it usually turns out that someone's using it to prop up a Christmas tree or something."

A harassed-looking butler hurried past them at that moment, wreath in one hand, sprig of holly in the other. "Cutlery," he murmured. "Hadn't thought of that."

Lumière laughed, turning back to face Cogsworth. "Now I know you don't mean that. And as for napkins who would run to you when you called them – shall we keep your sordid fantasies out of this?"

Cogsworth started to say something about wilful misunderstanding but it was clear that Lumière wasn't listening. Instead, he scowled huffily all the way from the foot of the staircase to the drawing room.

The Prince was having a heated discussion with his lady wife as to the relative merits of two potential Yule logs. The argument seemed a bit one-sided, with the Prince saying things like "Well, this one's definitely a better shape. But then again, I like the feel of this one…" whilst Belle rested her head on his shoulder and gazed dreamily into the fire.

She sat up as Lumière and Cogsworth entered. "That one," she said, suddenly re-engaging with the conversation and pointing at the log in her husband's left hand. "It'll burn better."

The Prince nodded. "Then this one it is." He turned to face his head of household. "Ah, Cogsworth. You have the invitations?"

"Yes, Master. Every one of them, checked and double-checked against Belle's – the princess's – list, sir."

"Excellent. Lumière, have the stable boys saddle up a dozen horses, we'll get these sent out at once. Now, Cogsworth – are the arrangements in place for the table settings?"

"Yes, sir – cream china on a red cloth with gold-rimmed goblets."

In the background of the conversation, Belle blinked, slightly bewildered. Having a choice of different-coloured china to suit any occasion was just one of the many things she was having trouble getting to grips with.

"Excellent," the Prince was saying. "How about the decorations for the ballroom?"

"I have a team working on it as we speak."

"The garden?"

"A topiary expert has been called in. Oh, and sir – about the music for the ball, I've had a word with the musicians…"

The Prince made a pained expression. "Ah, yes, about the music – could you have it seen to that the organ is removed from the Great Hall? I realise that it's not immediately relevant to the ball but…"

Belle shivered slightly at the memory, resting her hand on the Prince's shoulder to give reassurance. The events of last Christmas had been sinister to say the least – and not an experience she wanted repeating, however pleasant the eventual outcome had been.

Cogsworth nodded solemnly. "I understand, sir. I'll have it taken care of immediately." A moment later, he bowed and left the room. The Prince turned back to his wife.

"Thank you," she said, suddenly.

"For what?"

Belle looked into his eyes and smiled. "For all of this. For Christmas. It's important to me." She hesitated, her thoughts returning to the previous year – to snowball fights and talking crockery, to fear and understanding, to love. "I'm glad we can share it together." There was a pause. Belle moved closer to her husband and he slipped his arm around her, pulling her gently against his chest.

"Sometimes," he said, eventually. "I can't believe I was lucky enough to find you."

"Oh, you weren't," Belle smiled, offhandedly. "You were lucky I came looking." She tilted her head back until her eyes met his. "Your romance plan was seriously flawed, you know."

"Was it?" he said, innocently. "Well, that was remiss of me. Is there anything I can do to rectify the situation?"

"Oh, probably," said Belle, equally innocent. "Sometimes I can't believe you're the same Beast who imprisoned my father." Her husband shifted uncomfortably and she giggled. "I'm teasing you." She sighed, happily. "Anyway, I do believe you're the Beast who saved my life."

"You should," he said, leaning over to kiss her. "Because he's still here and he says you shouldn't have been in the West Wing."

Belle squealed, wriggling free of his grasp. "Well, you should learn to control your temper!"

There was a knock at the door and Mrs Potts coughed, smiling wanly and looking up at the ceiling. "When you're ready, dears, the cook wants a word with you in the kitchen."


	3. The One Thing We're Looking For Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the small cloaked figure made his way home from the tavern on the night before Christmas Eve, the Entrance Hall in the castle was becoming ever-increasingly crowded. The guests invited from neighbouring kingdoms had arrived the evening before the ball and would be staying the night in order to assure that the event the next day would go exactly as planned, with no latecomers disrupting proceedings. All well and good, as Cogsworth had now remarked over fifteen times, but it was a plan that hopelessly failed to account for the complications of directing fifty nobles and their maids and menservants to their rooms without committing any embarrassing _faux pas_ and causing any international political disasters because the Queen of Thea had let her lap dog loose along the same corridor as the Princess Alicia's precious white kitten.

As the small cloaked figure made his way home from the tavern on the night before Christmas Eve, the Entrance Hall in the castle was becoming ever-increasingly crowded. The guests invited from neighbouring kingdoms had arrived the evening before the ball and would be staying the night in order to assure that the event the next day would go exactly as planned, with no latecomers disrupting proceedings. All well and good, as Cogsworth had now remarked over fifteen times, but it was a plan that hopelessly failed to account for the complications of directing fifty nobles and their maids and menservants to their rooms without committing any embarrassing _faux pas_ and causing any international political disasters because the Queen of Thea had let her lap dog loose along the same corridor as the Princess Alicia's precious white kitten.

Lumière was actually rather enjoying the proceedings. He had been given the job of greeting the guests as they arrived and, given the high ratio of young, attractive heiresses to ageing dowagers these days, he was really having quite a good time. If nothing else, it was a chance to brush up on his sweet talk with Babette safely occupied in the dining room, straightening the forty forks and twenty knives that Cogsworth had pronounced to be woefully out of alignment.

He recognised one particular carriage even as it joined the back of the line of vehicles patiently queuing up to offload their passengers and have the horses stabled. The line was moving in a fairly tranquil manner, the irritation of some of the drivers whose journeys had been less pleasant than anticipated mollified by the prospect of a square meal by a warm fire in the kitchen. Lumière, standing with the other footmen waiting to help passengers from their carriages, was kissing the hand of a beautiful young duchess when he saw it. He would have known that carriage anywhere.

"Amandine," he murmured, absently.

"I beg your pardon?" said the duchess.

"Uh… a delight to have you with us, Mademoiselle. Please, enter and make yourself at home. Someone will have your things sent up to your room."

"Thank you," said the duchess, with a learned grace that had taken her years to perfect.

Lumière flashed her a smile and hurried off, watching as the carriage made its way towards them. After a moment, the driver reigned in the horses and the carriage drew to a halt. He opened the door with a flourish and swept a low bow. Inside, two young women looked out at him, one with the aloof and haughty air that servants quickly become accustomed to, the other with a mixture of shock and glowing excitement.

" _Bienvenue, mesdemoiselles_ ," he said, straightening up. As he did so, his eyes met those of the carriage's principal passenger. There was a flicker of recognition, but it did not last long.

The Comtesse gave a taut smile. "Ah. Footman. Do have my things carried up to my room, will you? And mind that special care is taken with the black case, it contains my dress for tomorrow night."

"Certainly." Lumière held out his hand, helping the Comtesse from her carriage. "It is my pleasure to be of assistance."

The Comtesse nodded graciously and walked elegantly to the doorway. Lumière turned his attention to the other occupant of the carriage – a young woman with long blonde hair that curled to her shoulders, just touching the plain neckline of her pale pink dress. She was the Comtesse's lady-in-waiting and as such was under strict yet unspoken orders not to outshine her mistress in any way – but her superior beauty was something even the plainest of clothes could not alter. Lumière's smile for her, against his better judgement, was genuine.

"Amandine," he said, gently.

She inclined her head slightly, suddenly shy. "Lumière."

He helped her down from the carriage. "It has been a while, _non_?"

"Too long, Lumière, and much has changed."

Lumière raised his eyebrows. That he could not deny. "True. Have these changes been much for the better, do you think?"

Amandine shrugged pale shoulders. "I cannot say. My mistress is fair if not kind and my position is all I could have hoped for, given my circumstances."

Lumière realised that he still held Amandine's hand and raised it slowly to his lips. "I am sorry things did not turn out as we hoped, _cherie_."

Amandine hesitated for a moment, her eyes shining. It was clear that the question she now asked was one she had long wanted an answer for. "Is it yet too late, Lumière? Your position is different, is it not? Can we not put the past behind us and do all the things we dreamed of?"

Lumière lowered her hand slowly. " _Cherie_ , I'm sorry. You were right – much has changed."

She lowered her eyes. "What's her name?"

"Babette," Lumière replied, gently. "Amandine, I'm so sorry, I…"

"It's nothing." Amandine pulled her hand gently free of his grasp. "My mistress awaits."

Lumière released her but held eye contact. "Meet me in the garden while the nobles dine. We have much to discuss."

Amandine turned away but paused before she had gone far. "Lumière," she called back.

" _Oui?_ "

"My sister, Nicolette, will be here with the Comtesse du Barbarac. She is her ladies' maid. Tell her where I will be staying so that she can come and find me."

" _Certainement._ " Lumière turned away as Amandine disappeared into the seething, decorated throng – just in time to see a final carriage wend its way onto the bridge that led across to the front entrance. This one he did not recognise, but it could have only one owner. King Célestin of Armelle, the richest, rudest royal for many miles – and also, it seemed, the owner of the most expensive and most hideous coach Lumière had ever seen. At a wild guess, he would say that the king was not travelling alone. As the carriage drew up, he slipped into the shadows, watching as one of the footmen opened the door and greeted the occupants of the carriage. A sparkling red shoe appeared, followed a moment later by a frothy cascade of skirt. A moment later, Princess Aurelia of Armelle stood by her carriage. Like all the young women whose arrivals Lumière had witnessed that night, Aurelia was beautiful, rich and titled. What made her stand out in his mind was that she had been here many times before, and not merely as a party guest.

* * *

In the entrance hall, Cogsworth had not merely reached the end of his tether but had broken free, run straight into a large tree and was now being pursued by a large pack of trained hounds. This was all in a purely metaphorical sense, of course, but his bulging eyes and increasingly purple complexion would suggest otherwise.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted, his voice a good octave higher than usual. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could just have your attention for a moment…"

The crowd, all of whom had long been accustomed to taking orders from no one, continued to exchange anecdotes pertaining to various dinners and dances, who had come out the previous summer, who was engaged to whom and what fashionable young ladies were wearing in Paris these days. Cogsworth clutched his list tightly and tried to breathe deeply. He had just opened his mouth to try again when someone behind him laughed. He turned around to dish out the first sanction that came to mind and found the princess's hand on his shoulder.

"Shall I have a try for you?" she asked.

"Well, uh, Your Highness, I can assure you that everything is under control, but…" He trailed off. Belle raised an eyebrow in a most un-princesslike way. "Yes, please," he finished, meekly.

Belle raised her voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome!"

At first, it didn't seem to have any effect. A couple of people looked around to see who had spoken, but then appeared to returned to their conversations. Gradually, however, the crowd fell silent except for an undercurrent of whispering. Was this the new princess?

Cogsworth's jaw dropped slightly. Belle winked at him, though he wasn't quite sure why.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as I'm sure you all know, this is the first occasion in some time that guests have been welcomed for festivities here. While I realise that some of you have had long journeys to join us and probably long for a rest and a good meal, we would greatly appreciate it if you could remain patient for a few moments while our esteemed head of household directs you to your rooms."

Cogsworth recovered just in time. "Uh, right. Prince Léonard and Princess Nadine, if you wouldn't mind following Lionel here, your room is in the East Wing, on the top floor. Lord and Lady Wingham, if you would be so good as to …"

Belle turned away, climbing back up the stairs, vaguely aware of the sound of Cogsworth's voice becoming more distant. She still hadn't really got used to authority – but then, the Prince had enough for both of them. She sighed and hurried down the corridor to the suite she share with her husband. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought that he had somehow managed to get lost between his wardrobe and the dining hall.

She found him sitting at the foot of their bed, fully-dressed and, at first glance, ready to greet his guests – yet apparently very interested in the pattern on the carpet all of a sudden. He looked up as she came in.

"Have they all arrived?"

Belle sat down beside him. "Yes. The guests have arrived, the table has been set, international incidents have been avoided, Cogsworth has nearly driven himself to an early grave and Lumière was last seen being dragged firmly into the south wing by Babette. It seems to me that all we're missing is a prince."

"Ah," he said, looking back at the carpet. "Right."

Belle glanced across the room. There was a mirror opposite the bed and in it she could make out their two shapes, close and comfortable. Their outfits had been selected with a pride bordering on obsession by Jeanette, and complimented one another perfectly. Jeanette de la Grande Bouche took great pride in her work. Belle was dressed in a pale green gown trimmed a darker shade, with an emerald pendant around her neck. Her Prince was dressed in dark green with a lighter trim and what seemed to Belle to be a slightly emerald complexion.

"You may as well tell me what it is now," she said, smiling gently at his reflection. "I have a feeling one of the maids will be here any moment with a message from Cogsworth, so we probably haven't got a lot of time."

The Prince turned to look at his beautiful wife, grateful to have her so close. "It's… this ball."

"I didn't think it was the carpet."

He gave her a sideways glance before continuing. "It's the first time in so long that I've been to one of these things, been around so many people. I – I don't know if I can do it."

Belle frowned. "But our wedding – I've never seen so many people. You were fine then."

He sighed. "That was different."

"How?"

"I had you beside me all through the day – they came to look at my beautiful bride, not to pay attention to me."

"Good."

"Good?"

Belle smiled, taking his hands in her own. "It's good because I got through our wedding exactly the same way." She stood up, speaking firmly. "Come on." The Prince paused, considering it. Belle smiled to herself. He had a way of pouting slightly when things weren't going the way he wanted. He was definitely the Beast she had fallen in love with. She took a step towards the door, continuing playfully. "You'll regret it if you don't."

"Why?"

"Because on Christmas morning you'll be woken bright and early with the biggest snowball in your face that you have ever seen – and don't forget you haven't got a fur coat any more."

The Prince stood up. "Just as well. Can you imagine what would happen if I went in there like… _that_?"

Belle bit her lip. "Yes, I can. But don't worry, they don't know you like I do."

"Thank you."

"If they did, they'd barely notice the difference."

The Prince rolled his eyes, holding out his arm for Belle to take. "It's good to have the support of a loving wife at one's side," he muttered. As they rounded the last corner of the corridor leading to the grand staircase, Belle kissed her Prince on the cheek, simultaneously straightening his jacket. "How do I look?"

"Since you ask," she said. "Like a handsome prince."

"What was that word you used the other day at breakfast?"

"Pass the butter, please?"

"No … cliché. I think that was one of those."

Belle shrugged. "Just about everything's a cliché these days."

They climbed down the stairs, waving genially at the guests who were looking happier now that they had seen their luggage attended to and could begin to relish the prospect of dinner. They were just reaching the ground when the Prince saw her, standing in the corner of the room, holding a fan and flirting outrageously with a married Duke. He groaned inwardly. This was all he needed. _Aurelia._


	4. The One Thing We're Looking For Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Babette was not happy. In fact, 'not happy' did not really do the way she was feeling justice.

Babette was not happy. In fact, 'not happy' did not really do the way she was feeling justice.

"Lumière!" she hissed, staring furiously through the almost total darkness. "You have the length of time it takes for Cogsworth to wonder where we are in which to explain yourself, and you had better make it good."

" _Ma chére,_ I do not understand. What is it that you want me to explain?"

"Lumière, I do not want to play games with you. Either you tell me right now who that girl was or…"

"What girl?"

"Innocence does not suit you, Lumière. You should have heard Francine in the dining room." She put on a falsetto voice, batting her eyelashes. "'Ooh, Babette, your power is not what it used to be, is it? Never mind, dear, maybe you can find a filthy stablehand and make your little flame jealous!' Ugh. In front of all the kitchen staff, too! You have put me through this too many times, Lumière, I am not willing to…"

Lumière placed a finger gently over her lips. "Babette, _mon amour_ , I swear on all that I hold dear to me that there is no one I could ever love as much as I love you."

Babette pushed his hand away and continued, only slightly pacified by his response. "Who is she? The girl Francine saw you with, who is she?"

Lumière sighed. "It was Amandine."

"Amandine?" The name echoed in her mind. She knew it from somewhere… Yes. "The girl you met fifteen years ago? The girl you nearly married?"

"Yes. That Amandine. Babette, I…" He stopped, unsure what to say next. Babette had heard it all many times before and he had little hope that any of his well-worn excuses would wash any better now than they had done previously. Was there any way he could tell her that she was the only woman for him that wouldn't sound insincere? Did he even deserve her trust?

In the moment of silence that followed, Babette heard footsteps in the corridor outside. "Lumière, we have not the time to talk about this now, but your last chance will come soon. Remember that."

Lumière nodded slowly and a moment later she was gone.

* * *

In the Dining Hall, Cogsworth's mood had improved significantly. Dinner was going precisely according to plan, his seating arrangements seemed to be working out perfectly and, to cap it all, the prince had taken him to one side as dessert made its appearance and complimented him on a perfectly organised meal – the latter certainly something he would never have expected to hear in those early days, before… Well, perhaps best not even to consider that now. If only tomorrow night's ball went as smoothly, Cogsworth would indeed have a merry Christmas.

He looked contentedly around the room, carefully examining the expressions of the nobles to ensure that they were enjoying themselves. Dukes, duchesses, counts, countesses, princes and princesses all seemed to be getting along just swimmingly. At the head of the table the prince and princess were engaged in conversation with a visiting king and queen, occasionally sipping from their wine glasses. A little further down, a heated but friendly discussion was taking place over the relative merits of two plays that had been performed earlier in the year. In fact, even the leaders of kingdoms who had only recently been at loggerheads over some policy or other were putting their differences aside and drunkenly proposing toasts to one another.

As the last of the _gateaux_ disappeared, the prince caught Cogsworth's eye, motioning with his hand. Cogsworth nodded. " _Mesdames et messieurs_ ," he called. "If you would care to adjourn to the drawing room for coffee…" The ladies gathered their skirts as the gentlemen made to help them up. Cogsworth turned smartly on his heel, giving a nod of acknowledgement to the serving maids and butlers as he left the room. "And I," he continued under his breath as he descended the steps leading to the pantry, kitchen and boiler room. "Will be in the kitchen having a well-deserved brandy."

The kitchen was not, perhaps, the bastion of peace he would have chosen – but then, choice was limited to the kitchen or his own room, and the prospect of taking a rest in front of an already roaring fire was far more attractive than that of lighting one there for himself. In any case, though he wouldn't have admitted it if asked, the atmosphere in the kitchen was really quite pleasant. The room was full to bursting with off-duty maids, footmen, butlers, cook's boys and stablehands, all making merry as quietly as they could, so as not to be reprimanded. Even some of the visiting staff – those responsible for the grooming and dressing of visiting dignitaries – had joined their drivers to sigh over the excesses of royalty and help the resident serving persons to demolish the leftover food and drink. Cogsworth noted the hush as he entered the room with pride, and more specifically the maids hastily slipping off the knees of the seated men, but made no move to discipline any of his underlings for anything they may or may not have been doing before he had been observed. Instead, he poured himself a drink from a glass container in a cupboard to the right of the door and motioned for a spit turner to vacate an armchair that had been placed by the fire. He sat down, making himself comfortable.

"Carry on," he said, waving imperiously.

Behind him, glances were exchanged, shoulders shrugged – and the merriment resumed as before. One of the gardeners had brought an accordion in with him, and thus began an impromptu song and dance around the central table. Cogsworth watched all of this out of the corner of his eye as he sipped his drink. Some of the staff he recognised, others, the visitors, he did not. Most of them were unremarkable – no doubt as much of a headache for his counterpart in their various places of employment as his own staff were to him. Still, his staff had more reason to celebrate than most. The previous Christmas had hardly fallen under the happiest of circumstances, and earlier festivities even less so. Perhaps he could forgive them for this.

One of the visitors in particular captured his attention. She was a pretty woman, probably a maid, since she did not look as though she were used to labour. Her hair was dark and tightly curled, falling gently to her shoulders. She was easily the match in beauty of any of the fine ladies upstairs. She was standing in the corner of the kitchen in conversation with two other women, and he found himself observing her carefully without even thinking about it. He was just idly wondering who her employer was when one of her _copains_ happened to glance round and see him looking at her. Cogsworth looked away, hastily. He did not hear their conversation.

"Nicolette!" squealed Félcie. "He was _definitely_ looking at you!"

"Who?" her friend asked, bewildered.

"Cogsworth!" hissed Tatienne, the only one of the three not visiting the castle. "He's the head of the household."

Félicie got straight to the heart of the matter. "Married?"

Tatienne shook her head. "As far as anyone knows, he left any women he might have had in England."

"English?" asked Félicie, wrinkling her nose. "Forget I mentioned it."

Nicolette rolled her eyes. "Oh, Félicie. What's wrong with the English?"

" _Oui_ ," Tatienne interjected. "English or not, the attentions of the prince's head of household are not to be sniffed at, eh, Nicolette?"

"No," Nicolette sighed, defensively. "I only meant that…"

"Oh, Nicolette, we know what you _meant_. But he _was_ looking at you."

"And that means what?" Nicolette straightened her skirt, absently. "He might merely have wondered who the slovenly brunette with the beautiful friends was."

Félicie tutted. " _Dieu_ , Nicolette, what are we to do with you? And where is your sister when we need her to convince you?"

"Ah," said Nicolette, gesturing for them to come closer. "Now that I can answer. Do you remember that Amandine was once engaged?"

"Yes?" Félicie and Tatienne nodded in eager unison. They were not a pair to miss an opportunity for fresh gossip.

"Well, he's here. The man she was to marry."

"You mean, with a guest?"

" _Non_! He works here."

"What's his name?" Tatienne eagerly ran through a list of all the male members of staff.

Nicolette shrugged. "I don't know, I only met him once and I don't recall his name. He was tall, handsome – quite a ladies' man."

Tatienne snapped her fingers. " _C'est Lumière_." Her face fell. "Oh, poor Amandine."

"Why poor Amandine?"

Tatienne shook her head. "Never mind. Come, I'll introduce you to Cogsworth."

Nicolette barely had time to protest before her arms were seized and she was frogmarched across the room by her friends. Beside the fireplace, Tatienne executed a neat little curtsey.

"Monsieur Cogsworth, I'd like to present to you my dear friend Nicolette Toussaint. She is a ladies' maid accompanying the Comtesse du Barbarac."

The expression on Cogsworth's face caused Nicolette to flush, mortified. It was clear that he had had no such interest in her and that Tatienne had overstepped a mark to parade her before him.

"Monsieur," she said, as bravely as she could.

Cogsworth froze, his stomach knotted with embarrassment. "Mademoiselle," he said. He had never had any luck with women.

Félicie dug Nicolette in the ribs but she did not respond. Félicie sighed. "Sir, we were wondering if Nicolette could join you by the fire. She's just been complaining of being cold."

"I –" began Nicolette, but she might as well have saved her breath.

"Certainly," said Cogsworth. "Be my guest."

Nicolette found herself all but forced into a seat. "Er – thank you."

"We'll be over there, Nicolette, dear," said Félicie. "Take your time, uh, warming up."

Nicolette glowered after them, feeling her cheeks burn. She turned to Cogsworth and smiled politely. Cogsworth smiled back and searched his mind for possible conversation topics.

"Are you … enjoying your stay?" he managed, lamely.

"Y-yes," Nicolette replied, nervously. "It's so beautiful here, and so nice to see Félicie and Tatienne again." _Sort of_ , she added, silently.

"Good," said Cogsworth, taking another sip of his drink and desperately wondering how Lumière would react in the situation. She was certainly a very attractive young woman, but he had no idea how to proceed with the conversation. He supposed that he ought to find out more about her, but how to ask her about herself without appearing impolitely inquisitive? A conundrum indeed, and not helped by the way she kept glancing anxiously between him and her friends on the other side of the room. Eventually, he succeeded in making a mistake he would regret for the rest of the evening. He drained his glass, standing up. "Well, charming to have met you, Mademoiselle Toussaint. I have … business to attend to. Elsewhere. Uh, upstairs. So, um …" He hesitated. "Enjoy the remainder of your stay."

Nicolette gave a weak smile. "Thank you, Monsieur, I hope I shall."

The moment Cogsworth had left the room, she turned and hurried out through the door into the kitchen gardens. The night air was cold against her cheeks and the wind teased her, pulling her hair and twitching her skirts. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. She had never been so humiliated in all her life.

She was just pulling herself together in preparation for the inevitable moment when she would have to go back inside when she heard it. The sound of a woman crying, just a little distance away. Nicolette glanced once behind her, then made across the garden in the direction of the sound. "Hello?" she called out, gently. "Who's there? What's the matter?"

"Nicolette?"

She recognised the voice even before she noticed the hunched figure sitting on the stone wall, dabbing ineffectively at her eyes. "Amandine? What is it?"

"Oh, Nicolette!" Amandine stood, embracing her sister. "How grateful I am to have you here with me!"

"What's the matter?" Nicolette asked, concerned. She had seen her sister cry very few times, and the last time it had been over the one man she had ever loved, when her mistress had refused to allow a marriage to take place. She had had to choose between a good position with the Countess or a life of poverty with the then penniless Lumière. Amandine was the only woman Nicolette had known to be practical in the face of love.

"It's him," Amandine sobbed. "I just spoke to him – oh, and he was so short with me, so brief. I don't think he's ever forgiven me – and that's not the worst of it!" She broke down again, becoming almost hysterical. Nicolette waited patiently for the wave to subside.

"What is it, then?"

"Babette," Amandine wailed. "He's found another woman! He really loves her, too, perhaps more than he ever loved me. Oh, Nicolette, you should hear the way he speaks of her!"

Nicolette put her arm around her sister's shoulders and led her gently back towards the castle.


	5. The One Thing We're Looking For Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That night, after all the guests had retired to their respective rooms, the Prince met his closest and most trusted servants in the library. His excitement was obvious to all of them, but none were quite as touched by it as Mrs Potts. She had given up hope long before the enchantress had appeared of ever seeing the Master genuinely enthused about anything again. She supposed it was a trait common to all adolescents, but selfishness – like arrogance and temper tantrums – were all just that little bit magnified by the trait that had made the juvenile prince different to other young men. He was royalty. He had become accustomed to receiving anything and everything he desired on a whim and could therefore not derive any satisfaction from what were, essentially, the rather simple joys of Christmas. The one aspect that was in a language he spoke and understood was the tradition of giving – and, more importantly, _receiving_ – presents, and even there he was seldom satisfied. She had been genuinely shocked at his grace and humility with the young mistress. Belle was truly an incredible woman, to have prompted such a change.

That night, after all the guests had retired to their respective rooms, the Prince met his closest and most trusted servants in the library. His excitement was obvious to all of them, but none were quite as touched by it as Mrs Potts. She had given up hope long before the enchantress had appeared of ever seeing the Master genuinely enthused about anything again. She supposed it was a trait common to all adolescents, but selfishness – like arrogance and temper tantrums – were all just that little bit magnified by the trait that had made the juvenile prince different to other young men. He was royalty. He had become accustomed to receiving anything and everything he desired on a whim and could therefore not derive any satisfaction from what were, essentially, the rather simple joys of Christmas. The one aspect that was in a language he spoke and understood was the tradition of giving – and, more importantly, _receiving_ – presents, and even there he was seldom satisfied. She had been genuinely shocked at his grace and humility with the young mistress. Belle was truly an incredible woman, to have prompted such a change.

But then, she hadn't been the only female involved. For the years before Belle had arrived, the word 'enchantress' – or, indeed, the mention of anything remotely connected to magic – had been taboo in the Beast's household. This had, if anything, become far more important once Belle was in the castle, since it was vital that she knew nothing of the spell. However, after the transformation an explanation had become somewhat mandatory and Belle was now acquainted with at least the basic details of her Prince's life before she had entered it. No one, however, could have anticipated the Prince's decision, earlier in the year, to find the enchantress and speak to her in person – and make a request. No one knew precisely what had passed between them, but he had returned a changed man, calm, less quick to anger – and more in love with his wife than those who had known him from infancy would have believed him capable of loving anyone. Now, they were awaiting the enchantress's response to the request he had made of her. Her messenger, a pure white dove, had arrived that morning.

"What does she say?" the Prince was asking. "Did she agree?"

Cogsworth and Mrs Potts met one another's eyes and smiled. "Good news, sir," said Cogsworth. "She has given you her blessing – oh, and she sends this." He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a slender box. The Prince opened it and smiled slightly.

"Perfect," he said, softly, slipping it into his own pocket. "Thank you." He held out his hand to Cogsworth, who shook it, then to Mrs Potts and Lumière. "I don't know where I'd be without you."

"It's a pleasure, Master," Mrs Potts said, her eyes shining with what might have been tears. The others murmured their agreement. Lumière silently produced a bottle of wine to go with the glasses on the silver tray resting on a small table to the edge of the room. The others exchanged glances, but no one commented.

"Here's to Christmas," said the Prince, raising his glass.

"To Christmas," chorused the others.

* * *

Christmas Eve brought with it a heightened dimension to the blizzard that had been going on lazily for some days now. Belle awoke to find that the branches on the trees outside her bedroom window were heavy with snow and that the gardeners, early-risers to a man, were already struggling with a tree, dragging it along the path through the forest and across the bridge to haul it into the castle. She supposed it served two purposes – the forest path would no longer require clearing of snow. She sighed contentedly, watching the snowflakes drift lazily down to earth. The castle was so beautiful now, yet she had been so frightened by it before. It was amazing what a little inner warmth could do to change the perception of a cold and icy exterior.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to beam at her husband, who smiled back.

"They've got the tree."

She nodded, excitedly. "It's beautiful!"

"And all the better for my not having to get my fur wet in the interests of saving something far more valuable," he commented, putting his arms around her.

Having dressed, the prince and princess left their chamber together only to find themselves confronted by a tall, elegant woman surrounded by a veritable army of men and women holding boxes of baubles or armfuls of tinsel. One young man was virtually invisible behind the wreaths and garlands strung around his neck. Belle smiled. Angelique and the castle decorators.

"Ah, Your Highnesses – the very people I had come looking for." Angelique curtseyed hastily before continuing. "I need to have your specifications for the tree. The ballroom is decorated already as you suggested, but I have done nothing else and there is so much more to cover. The staircases must be hung with garlands, I need wreaths on every door, stockings on every fireplace – oh, and princess!" she added, turning to Belle. "The tree has just arrived!"

Belle smiled at the Prince before slipping her arm through Angelique's. "Don't worry," she said, calmly. "We've done this before, have we not?"

" _Oui_ ," said Angelique as they proceeded down the corridor, the Prince in conversation with a couple of the decorators behind them. "But the decorations moved then of their own accord!"

"True," Belle conceded. "Still, we'll do the best we can."

* * *

The Comtesse du Barbarac was not in the most congenial of moods. She had risen late that morning and was now forced to make her toilette at a speed far greater than she would have liked in order to be on time for breakfast. As though that weren't enough, however, her ladies' maid was being unusually distracted that morning.

"Nicolette!" she snapped, irritably. "At this rate I shall not have had ten strokes in my hair, let alone one hundred. Hurry up, girl!"

Nicolette jumped, surprised out of deep thought. "Yes, m'lady." She tried again, focusing on the brush in her hand, smoothing it through the Comtesse's hair. It was no use. She was distracted at every moment by some thought of Amandine and Lumière – or, more strangely, Cogsworth. She was tempted to use her free time while the Comtesse was at breakfast to find Tatienne and Félicie and give them a piece of her mind, but her sister would have to come first. Poor Amandine, she had been so distraught!

It seemed like an age before her work was done, but finally the Comtesse pronounced herself ready to go for breakfast – just as a butler appeared to accompany her downstairs. Nicolette waited until she was safely away, then slipped out into the corridor, hurrying along to the servants' staircase which lead directly down to the kitchen.

There was almost total silence in the kitchen and surrounding rooms, as most of the staff had been drafted in to help with the decorations, but there was one young woman standing by an open cupboard door, peering inside as though looking for something.

"Excuse me," began Nicolette. The woman turned round and, to her horror, Nicolette realised it was the princess. "Oh, Your Highness!" She swept a hasty curtsey. "Forgive me, I should not thus have approached you, I …"

The princess smiled. "What is it?"

Nicolette thought, quickly. If anyone could help her, it would be the princess – but was she brave enough to ask her? Amandine would, she knew, do the same for her. "I was wondering if you could help me find someone."

"Of course," said the princess. "Who are you looking for?"

Nicolette was surprised. Kindness was not something many nobles possessed, she had certainly never expected it of royalty. "My sister, she's here with the Comtesse de la Mer. I don't know where to find her and I'm afraid I should get lost. Do you know where I can find her?"

"No," Belle admitted. "But I can find out. Would you like me to help you look for her?"


	6. The One Thing We're Looking For Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cogsworth was pacing. It was possibly a habit learned from the Master, but pacing helped him think. He needed to concentrate. This was the most crucial part of the entire preparatory period before the ball. There were guests to be taken care of, decorations to oversee, musicians to organise – and all before that evening. He had so many things to consider – yet he kept remembering Nicolette. Truly this time, he thought, he had surpassed himself. He had made some mistakes with women in the past, but "I have business to attend to, enjoy the rest of your stay?" He shook his head. Ridiculous.

Cogsworth was pacing. It was possibly a habit learned from the Master, but pacing helped him think. He needed to concentrate. This was the most crucial part of the entire preparatory period before the ball. There were guests to be taken care of, decorations to oversee, musicians to organise – and all before that evening. He had so many things to consider – yet he kept remembering Nicolette. Truly this time, he thought, he had surpassed himself. He had made some mistakes with women in the past, but "I have business to attend to, enjoy the rest of your stay?" He shook his head. Ridiculous.

Still, there was one thing to be thankful for. At least Lumière hadn't found out about the whole business. He never would have heard the last of it. Come to think of it, though, Cogsworth couldn't remember having seen Lumière since the previous evening, and then that had been in the library at the prince's request. Lumière had barely spoken a word to anyone in some time. Cogsworth frowned. Most peculiar.

The ballroom, it had to be said, was a credit to Angelique and her team. It was beautiful, hung with bells and ribbons and sprigs of holly. To his left, three or four of the musicians were already tuning up beside the a grand piano with a ring of candles on top of it, and the tree was being dragged in by a team of gardeners who were somehow managing to remain cheerful even as Sultan snapped at their heels.

Something everyone had noticed that morning was Chip's enthusiasm. According to Mrs Potts, who had been positively gleaming as the servants met in the kitchen earlier that morning for an invigorating cup of tea, he had risen before the sun that morning, pulled on his warmest clothes and run out into the snow. He and some of the kitchen boys were responsible for the four snowmen guarding the kitchen door, as well as the snowball that had hit the side of Cogsworth's face as he had gone out for his daily inspection of the grounds.

Cogsworth sighed, stepping out onto the balcony for a moment. He needed some fresh air and a moment to collect his thoughts. By tomorrow morning all of this would be over and the guests would be departing, leaving the prince and princess to celebrate a private Christmas. The nobles would go, taking with them all their staff and leaving behind them a mass of rooms to be swept out and tidied, sheets to be cleaned and dishes to be washed. And Nicolette would no longer be a consideration.

Damn! There she was, in his mind again. This was thoroughly ridiculous. He had met her only once and had made a total fool of himself. What, then, was the explanation for his fascination with her?

* * *

Lumière kicked at the snow around his feet, nervously. He had arranged to meet Babette in the garden – it had looked so beautiful from indoors. Now he was idly wondering whether it was possible to have a romantic atmosphere with one or more parties having lost feeling in their feet.

He was more nervous about this _rendezvous_ than he would have believed. He had never seen Babette as she had been the previous night. The anger he might have deserved, the fierce questioning certainly – but the way she had left him. _"Your last chance will come soon, remember that."_ He knew how she felt – here it was, Christmas, the first Christmas after the enchantment. The Master had found his beautiful bride and the royal couple couldn't have been happier – yet between them, things were the same as they had been when they were much younger. No commitment, no decisions – he still lived to chase her. But maybe once he caught her, it ought to be time to stop. Yet somehow, he couldn't. These days he seemed always to be apologising to her, to be awaiting her forgiveness. And she was waiting too, he sensed that. But…

"Make it quick, Lumière, the guests are to be served sandwiches in half an hour and I have got napkins to press."

"Babette!" It was almost a reflex to reach out for her, but he managed to control himself. "I … I need to ask you something."

Babette's eyes narrowed. " _Quoi_?"

"What would convince you?" he sighed. "What could I do to convince you?"

"Convince me of what?" Babette folded her arms, mostly to keep out the cold but also to make sure Lumière realised that she wasn't playing his games. He made a pained expression, and for a moment Babette was tempted to throw herself at him. After all, he was suave with all females and Francine had seen nothing more than a kiss on the hand and a whispered conversation – far less than rumours would have suggested in the old days. But these were not the old days and this girl, had things turned out differently, could have been the reason she and Lumière would never have met. She needed reassurance.

Lumière shifted, uncomfortably. "That I love you," he sighed in a rush. "That I'd do anything for you. That there's no one else for me but you and that I want us to be together no matter what."

Babette turned away for a moment under the pretence of watching Chip and the kitchen boys throw snowballs at one another, but hiding her face from him. She didn't want him to see the tiny smile that had crept across her features. "I don't know, Lumière. I want things to change. I am tired of sneaking around, of catching moments together when we should be working. We are always hiding, Lumière. I want that to stop. I want us to be together, too – but I want us to be together for the whole world to see."

Above their heads, Tatienne the maid stuck her head out of the window and looked down at them. "Babette," she called. "You had better hurry in, they are looking for you downstairs."

" _Merci_ , Tatienne," Babette replied, without enthusiasm. She turned back. "Think about it, Lumière. I shall see you this evening, no doubt."

Lumière watched her disappear around the corner, making for the kitchen door. He was just turning to go himself when he saw the princess approaching, smiling to herself as each step brought the snow above her ankles.

"Lumière!" she said as she saw him, quickening her pace. "Just the man I was looking for."

Lumière bowed, though without his usual flourish. "How may I be of assistance?"

Belle frowned. "I was going to ask you if you knew anything about a Princess Aurelia, but I think perhaps I had better ask you a different question instead. What's wrong with you?" She paused. "Is it something to do with Amandine?"

"You know?"

"I just met her sister, Nicolette." Belle pulled her cloak more tightly about her shoulders. "Perhaps you'd better come in and tell me all about it."

It was probably a lucky escape, Lumière thought. He was hardly qualified to explain about Princess Aurelia.

When he had finished, Belle looked thoughtful for a moment. It seemed she had finally got to the bottom of the matter. Lumière loved Babette, that much was clear. Maybe, she thought, that was all that really mattered.

"Lumière," she said, slowly. "I have an idea. Come with me, we'll talk to the Prince."


	7. The One Thing We're Looking For Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a perfect evening. The stars were shining, the ground was thick with snow, fires were burning in every grate, and the castle was full of the sound of excited conversation and laughter. James Fife, the newly appointed Chief Musician to His Royal Highness the Prince, felt just a little bit like he was about to be sick. It was the night before Christmas and the dancing was due to begin in just under half an hour. Fine for all the excited nobles, but he was so nervous he could hardly hold a note.

It was a perfect evening. The stars were shining, the ground was thick with snow, fires were burning in every grate, and the castle was full of the sound of excited conversation and laughter. James Fife, the newly appointed Chief Musician to His Royal Highness the Prince, felt just a little bit like he was about to be sick. It was the night before Christmas and the dancing was due to begin in just under half an hour. Fine for all the excited nobles, but he was so nervous he could hardly hold a note.

He tried to distract himself by looking out of the window, watching the final guests arrive, stepping out of the shadow of the forest and walking up towards the front entrance. They were the townspeople, invited as guests of Princess Belle. Fife scrutinised their expressions, thoughtfully. The children looked bored, the women excited and the men frightened out of their wits.

"Ahem. Are you ready?"

Fife span around to face Cogsworth. "Yessir," he said, hastily.

Cogsworth nodded, already moving agitatedly in the direction of the herald. "Good man," he said. "Carry on."

By seven o'clock, all was in place. The guests were in the ballroom, the local peasants mingling self-consciously but with increasing confidence with the foreign nobility. The orchestra were on perfect time and pitch and Fife's nerves were slowly becoming soothed. Cogsworth, satisfied that none of the guests were uninvited interlopers, was finally beginning to relax. All in all, as the ball began to get into full swing, things were going pretty well. Cogsworth took a deep breath. Time to announce the hosts. He motioned to Fife to halt the music, and coughed loudly to attract the attention of the guests.

"Please welcome," he said. "Their esteemed Highnesses – our Royal Prince and his beautiful princess, Belle."

All heads turned to watch the couple enter. A few comments were muttered about the princess's dress – ruby red and gold – and a couple of married ladies sighed wistfully, but mostly there was silence. The prince and princess smiled and waved, and he was on the point of gesturing to Fife and bidding the guests to continue dancing – when there was something of a scuffle and small figure fought his way to the front.

" _Méchante_!" he cried, his finger pointed directly at the princess. "Slut!"

The princess opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the Prince had stepped forward. For a moment, he did not speak, trying to calm the irrational anger that was rising inside him. "Who are you? What do you mean by doing this?"

The assembled nobles and peasants moved as one, taking an unconscious step backwards. The Prince's temper was known throughout the land. Even his greatest enemies were careful not to provoke him in person.

"Your princess can answer that first question," the man replied, his face contorted with a rage that had seethed within him for a year. "The second I shall reveal to you in a moment."

All eyes turned to Belle. Still holding her husband's hand, the princess stepped forward. "Lefou?" she asked, gently.

"You know him?" the Prince demanded.

"Well, yes." Belle looked down at Lefou. "He was Gaston's friend."

The Prince froze at the name. "Oh," he said, quietly.

"Lefou, I don't understand." Belle tried to look into his eyes. "What are you doing?"

Lefou did not answer her. Instead, he turned his back on the prince and princess to face the crowd. "This woman, your princess, is worth nothing more than dirt. Those of you here from our local village will remember, whether you respect that memory or not, a man named Gaston. He was an inspiration to all of us, a true king among men. He chose this woman-" He gestured at Belle. "For his bride. He would have done anything for her hand. Eventually, he gave his life for her. And how did she repay him? She married our long-lost prince." He paused. To either side, guards were already closing in on him. "If you can still love this woman," he finished, for the benefit of the crowd. "Then that will be your choice to make. I have said my piece."

He made no protest as he was led away, and the footsteps of the guards down the corridor were clearly audible in the silence that followed. Belle turned away, pulling her hand free of the Prince's and disappearing. There was a momentary pause, then the Prince motioned to Fife, who quickly began the first tune that came into his head. He was followed four beats later by the rest of the musicians. Gathering his composure, the Prince bowed politely to the guests then hurried out of the room after Belle.

In the corner of the room, Lumière stood as if frozen, a wine bottle halfway to the glass he had been about to pour for a peasant who looked like he would have preferred something stronger. He was not entirely sure he could believe what he had just seen. In that moment, months of planning to make the ball a perfect success had been ruined – and it was a disaster in more ways than one.

* * *

In the kitchen, blissfully unaware of all that was passing upstairs, the servants whose services were no longer required that evening were preparing to throw a party that would easily, they thought, rival the serene celebrations upstairs. With all the dishes for the banquet sitting ready for serving in the parlour, the table was pushed to one end of the room, a great barrel of wine opened and the gardener with the accordion prevailed upon to play again, joined by a butler with a harmonica and a court entertainer playing percussion with a spoon on an assortment of plates and bowls and singing nonsensical words to the music. The servants eagerly launched into a popular folk dance, inventing the parts they couldn't remember and singing loudly along with the chorus. They were joined again by the visiting servants and the party was turning out to be everything they had hoped it would be – loud, happy and with freely-flowing alcohol. Only two people remained unmoved by the spirit of the occasion. Nicolette, standing in the corner, was concerned for Amandine. Cogsworth, in the opposite corner, was trying to keep his eyes off of her.

"Félicie," Tatienne hissed, her mouth close to her friend's ear in order to be heard. "I think things need to be taken into our own hands again."

"I agree," Félicie shouted back. As the dancers formed into two lines and both women were led down the aisle by their partners, they broke away from the formation, stopping to speak in the ears of their musicians. The message was passed quickly back up the room, and suddenly the music had changed to a slow, gentle sound, the words to a soft ballad. And somehow, inexplicably, Cogsworth and Nicolette were drawn into the dance, unaware of what was happening until they found themselves holding hands.

"Hello," said Nicolette, shyly, as they moved around the room in a promenade.

"Uh – ah – good evening," Cogsworth stuttered, still unsure as to how he had ended up in the dance at all.

"It's … nice to see you again." Nicolette had barely finished the sentence before she was cursing herself. Why had she said that?

Cogsworth was lost for words for a moment. "Oh, ah, you too. I trust you're enjoying the festivities?"

"Oh, yes, it's so wonderful to see everyone so happy. It must be wonderful to work in such an atmosphere."

"It varies," said Cogsworth. "You'd be surprised how much we have to celebrate here."

Nicolette executed a neat twirl, disappearing for a moment behind another couple. When she caught his hand again, she was smiling. "I haven't had so much fun in quite a while."

"Me neither," Cogsworth admitted.

"Do you find your work stressful?"

"Yes," he replied. "Definitely."

They circled with another pair in a right-hand star, still smiling stupidly at one another. Nicolette had just begun to speak again when the herald burst in.

"Cogsworth!" he cried. The music ground to a halt and the dancing stopped. "Cogsworth, you'd better come quick – something terrible has happened upstairs!"

The look on the man's face told Cogsworth that this was more serious than Lumière having spilt Bordeaux on Princess Nadine's dress. He looked at Nicolette. Her hand was still in his. "Forgive me," he said.

Nicolette nodded. "Of course."

As they mounted the stairs, the herald filled Cogsworth in on the events in the ballroom. The whereabouts of the prince and princess was currently unknown, he said, but in their absence some form of authority was required in the ballroom. Cogsworth cast a regretful glance behind him. Just for one night, he wished someone else were the king's head of household.


	8. The One Thing We're Looking For Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belle had visited the tower very few times before – twice, she had been a prisoner. It always brought back the same memories for her. She had been more frightened here than she had ever been before – frightened for her father, then frightened for herself. For a few moments, she had thought that her life would end in that horrible, desolate place, and it was a feeling she had never forgotten.

Belle had visited the tower very few times before – twice, she had been a prisoner. It always brought back the same memories for her. She had been more frightened here than she had ever been before – frightened for her father, then frightened for herself. For a few moments, she had thought that her life would end in that horrible, desolate place, and it was a feeling she had never forgotten.

Yann Lefou was sitting now on the floor of the cell that had once held Maurice. Belle and the Prince approached together, hand in hand, but it was Belle who knelt before the prisoner, the Prince hanging back slightly, ready to jump to her aid if she needed him.

"Lefou," she said gently.

He looked up. "Your Highness," he muttered.

"Lefou, do you want to talk to me?"

"No," he said. "I've said everything I wanted to."

"All right. Then you can let me say what I want to." She looked into the darkness, wishing she could see the prisoner's face. "Lefou, do you remember the day Gaston asked me to marry him?"

"I've never seen him so angry," Lefou responded, deadpan. He wasn't looking at Belle, but at the Prince. He watched his expression as she mentioned marriage.

"Yes, he was angry because I denied him. Angry because I hurt his pride. Lefou, you knew Gaston better than anyone. You were always with him – you must know better than me why he wanted me for his wife. He liked me, Lefou, maybe thought I was beautiful, thought I'd make him a good wife, that everyone would respect his choice. But the truth is that people would have respected any decision he made. He barely knew me, Lefou. No one could have made him a worse wife than I would."

"He didn't think so." Lefou was good at watching people – better than he had ever been given credit for. From the moment he had entered the castle, he had scrutinised the prince and princess. He didn't know what he'd been looking for – resentment, maybe, or some evidence that he had married her for her beauty, she him for his money and title. He had noticed how the prince had been quick to come to his wife's defence, how he had walked with her upstairs, how he stood over her, far more protective than possessive. Even if he had been looking for them, he could not have seen better confirmation to the contrary than the way in which the prince and princess looked at one another. But that left one question unanswered. "Did you love him?" he asked, suddenly.

Belle looked down and shook her head, slowly. "I didn't hate him. I respected him for his popularity, for those feats of bravery that we could prove he had actually done – but I couldn't adore him for them. I know that made me different in the village and I know Gaston couldn't understand that." She looked round at her husband for a moment. His expression was one she couldn't understand. She turned back to Lefou. "I wouldn't have wanted things to end the way they did – but Gaston's death was his own fault. He fell from the roof. No one could have done anything to save him."

Lefou looked away, thinking. After a moment, he gave a resigned sigh. "I believe you," he said. "No one could have beaten Gaston but the man himself."

Belle straightened up, but hesitated. "What do you think he would have made of this ball, Lefou?"

Lefou almost smiled. "Food, drink and a room full of beautiful women? I think he'd have enjoyed it."

"I think," said Belle. "That Gaston had a better friend in you than he could possibly have realised."

Lefou looked up at her, his voice suddenly catching in his throat. "Really?"

Belle nodded. "Yes. You know, in many cases, people don't notice what they've got until they don't have it any more." She turned to the guard, holding out her hand for the keys. She unlocked the door. "Yann Lefou, I'd like to cordially invite you to our Christmas ball. I … I might have misjudged Gaston. Perhaps he wasn't as self-absorbed and selfish as I thought. Perhaps, if he'd have liked this party, he'd have liked you to enjoy it in his absence."

Lefou stood, slowly. "Are you sure?"

Belle handed the keys back to the guard. "I believe in second chances," she said.

* * *

The return of the prince and princess caused more of a stir than their initial entrance. Half a dozen women rushed to Belle's side.

"Are you all right, Highness?"

"It's simply awful, my dear, I can hardly stand it."

Belle smiled. "It's fine," she said. "All taken care of." She gestured to the doorway, where Lefou was lurking, suddenly nervous. "This man is here as one of my personal guests. I hope you all will treat him as such."

Sensing that his wife required a reprieve, the Prince cleared his throat loud enough to attract attention. "If you wouldn't mind following Cogsworth to the Dining Room," he said. "Dinner will be served shortly."

It was fortunate, perhaps, that the human mind often prioritises appetite before curiosity. The guests filed out of the ballroom behind Cogsworth, eagerly discussing the prospect of roast ham and turkey with all the trimmings.

Alone with Belle, the Prince gazed pensively at her. "That," he said, eventually. "Was incredible."

Belle smiled. "Thank you," she said, slipping her arm through his. They were halfway along the corridor when a thought occurred to the prince.

"You never told me you'd been asked in marriage before."

"It never came up," she pointed out. "But anyway, now you know one of my secrets you can tell me one of yours. Who is Princess Aurelia?"

Colour rose in the Prince's cheeks until he was almost a similar shade to Belle's gown. "She's the daughter of the King of Armelle."

Belle's mouth twitched. "You know what I mean. Who _is_ she?"

The Prince, who had been slowing down ever since the princess's name had been mentioned, now stopped walking altogether. "I was betrothed to her," he muttered, the words rushing out of him like a sigh.

"What happened? Surely a betrothed princess would be ideal for someone in your …" She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Position. Couldn't you have summoned her, or whatever it is you'd have to do?"

The Prince looked away. "There… came a point where we – I – concluded that she was unsuitable."

"What point was that?" asked Belle, innocently.

The Prince murmured something so fast and low that Belle could catch it.

"I'm sorry?"

The Prince blushed even harder. "She's … allergic to fur."

Belle laughed until she collapsed, helpless, against her prince. It had been a fraught evening.


	9. The One Thing We're Looking For Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dinner was perfect in both organisation and execution. The seating plan could not have been better, with everyone from royalty to peasantry able to converse amiably on topics of joint interest. Even some of the servants had been invited to sit at the table, though Cogsworth had absented himself almost before the entrées had been removed to make way for the main course, and no one had the faintest idea where he had gone. Mrs Potts and Maurice sat deep in conversation, while Babette and Lumière sat in awkward silence, Lumière sipping at a glass of wine and declining to eat anything – though only the prince and princess knew why.

The dinner was perfect in both organisation and execution. The seating plan could not have been better, with everyone from royalty to peasantry able to converse amiably on topics of joint interest. Even some of the servants had been invited to sit at the table, though Cogsworth had absented himself almost before the entrées had been removed to make way for the main course, and no one had the faintest idea where he had gone. Mrs Potts and Maurice sat deep in conversation, while Babette and Lumière sat in awkward silence, Lumière sipping at a glass of wine and declining to eat anything – though only the prince and princess knew why.

It was as the maids laid the desserts on the table that the Prince stood, clearing his throat for attention. "Dear friends," he said, once the room had fallen silent. "And honoured guests. There is much to say on this occasion, yet perhaps it is best to leave some things unsaid. There are things that cannot be explained unless they are already understood and which can only be taught by experience. That experience is one I have had, thanks to my wife and to several people whose help and friendship I have, at times, utterly failed to deserve. For this I am more thankful than words can express, and for this I would like to raise a glass to each and every one of you. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," replied the guests, raising their glasses in unison.

Belle stood beside her Prince. "Ladies and gentleman, I am honoured to repeat my husband's sentiments. I would like to add, as is often said but seldom believed, that it is not the decorations or the giving and receiving of presents that makes this a special time, but the warmth and love that it inspires within people. It is for this reason that I'd like to introduce you all to Lumière, a dear friend of ours who has been searching some time for the perfect words."

Lumière stood up nervously, and suddenly the eyes of every occupant of the room were on him. "Uh … _bonsoir_ ," he said, his heart in his mouth. "I – I am Lumière, and the beautiful woman beside me is Babette. She and I …" He faltered. "I would like to … What I'm trying to say is…"

Babette looked up at him. She was surprised, but pleasantly so. Truth be told, when she had spoken to him in the garden, she had had no idea what she had wanted him to do. She would have expected him maybe to try and win her with a gift, to serenade her. She would have forgiven him in time, but this-

Lumière continued, beads of sweat beginning to form below his hairline. He looked down at her, his eyes meeting hers levelly. "Babette, ma chère, there is no better way of expressing the way I feel than this. In front of all these people, with the world as my witness – I adore you. You are the most precious thing in all the world to me and I would rather anything than lose you." He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. When he opened them, Babette was staring up at him, her eyes wide and shining. "I want to ask - no, I want to make you a promise." He held out his hand.

Babette hesitated for a moment, puzzled. What was he doing? She looked around. The attention of every person in the room was fixed upon her. She glanced up the table, towards the princess. Belle met her gaze and smiled, giving a slight nod. She looked back at Lumiere, placing her own hand in his palm. He helped her up, gently.

"Lumiere, I don't understand."

Lumiere didn't respond, instead releasing her hand and reaching into his jacket. As he did so, he lowered himself onto one knee. Babette froze. He couldn't be... was he?

"Babette," Lumiere said, taking her hand again. She had never seen him so nervous. "Babette, I swear to you that, for the rest of my life, I will be yours first, foremost and always. You will always be the only woman for me." He paused, fumbling with the small object in his free hand. Babette realised that he was shaking. "Babette, I love you more than words could possibly say. Will you marry me?"

There was an audible intake of breath and then the room fell silent. Babette froze. All this time, all this worry, all the agonising over whether he'd ever ask her - and now, before an entire room full of people, in the presence of not only the Master and the princess but of nobility and royalty who were complete strangers to them, he had. He had asked her to be his wife. And now she could hardly breathe.

"Lumiere," she gasped, looking down at him. His eyes were wide open and he had turned an ashen pale. He was terrified. "Of course I will!"

Babette had not heard such a commotion of shouting and stamping and cheering since the royal wedding. She stood, unable and unwilling to move, letting the sound wash over her as Lumiere slipped the ring onto her finger. He stood and they embraced, a kiss perhaps more elegant than any they had shared in dark, secluded places, delivered with less reckless abandon - but none the less, the finest moment of her life to date. Because there, in that room, on Christmas Eve, she and Lumiere were together for all the world to see. No more hiding, no more stolen kisses in empty storerooms - she was his fiancee. She was _his_ \- first, foremost and always.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," called Belle.

The door opened to reveal Amandine, her face tearstained but her expression confident. She curtseyed to the prince and princess. "Forgive me, Your Highnesses, but there is a pressing matter that I must speak to my mistress about." She crossed the room, walking to meet the Comtesse who stood up, furious.

"Amandine, how dare you interrupt us at dinner? You have no business here!"

Amandine shook her head. "This could not wait. Madame, I can no longer serve you. It might be within the scope of the abilities of better women then myself to pardon wrongdoings against them, but I have realised now what I should have seen many years ago. You denied me a chance at happiness that has now long since passed. I chose to stay with you and it is for that that I cannot forgive myself – but I see now that I should not have had to choose, and it is for that that I cannot forgive you. Farewell, Madame. Perhaps our paths shall cross again some day." The Comtesse sat down, speechless. Amandine hurried over to Lumière and Babette. "Goodbye, Lumière, it was a pleasure to see you again." She turned to Babette. "You will make him happier than I ever could have done. Congratulations." She made to leave, but was caught at the door by the princess.

"Amandine," Belle began. "If you would be so disposed, I should like to hire you as my own ladies' maid. I admire your spirit."

Amandine paused, seriously considering it. "No," she said, at length. "Thank you – though I greatly appreciate the offer. Perhaps you might be so kind as to offer the position to Nicolette. I think she would be far more grateful for the opportunity to remain here than I. I think it best that I … walk a different path. There are many things I should like to do. I have a little money of my own. Perhaps I might seek out new roads, new opportunities for adventure. "

Belle opened the door, smiling at the former ladies' maid. "I admire that even more," she sighed. "Good luck."

Amandine returned the smile, gratefully. "Thank you."

* * *

The sky that night seemed to Belle to be at its most beautiful. It was strange, she reflected, how one's mood could reflect one's perception of just about anything. It seemed that so many things in life were inconstant, so little could be trusted to remain. It was comforting to have things to rely on. Love, for example. Christmas. The moon. Though all could change, could be seen differently from different points of view, they were all there, always old and yet new again.

She turned to her prince and found that he was looking at her. She wondered what he was thinking. She opened her mouth to speak, but he put his finger to his lips. She closed her mouth again, watching him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long, slender box, holding it out to her. She accepted it, puzzled, and lifted the lid. Inside was a rose, as fresh as if it had just bloomed and as beautiful as anything she had ever seen. She smiled at her handsome prince, thanking him without words. Together, they turned to look up at the stars. With or without enchanted decorations, heroic rescues or piles of presents, the world held a magical quality that would be with them, not just for Christmas but always.


End file.
